


This Fragile World

by GreyMichaela



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: (for shame Chirrut), Bickering Space Husbands, Blow Jobs, Chirrut has Force-empathy but only with Baze, Fluff, Inappropriate Use of the Force, M/M, No Spoilers, Sappy, set pre-Rogue One
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 01:41:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8948209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyMichaela/pseuds/GreyMichaela
Summary: A vignette of Baze and Chirrut's life, set in the vague "sometime before the events of Rogue One occurred" era.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Oh look, the porn has arrived, right on schedule. ~throws it at you and runs~

The pub was loud around them, reverberating in Chirrut’s head. He let it drift through him, feeling for possibilities. 

The Flakax to his right clicked its mandibles, sounding irritated. He was a big one, at least half a meter above Chirrut’s head and waves of instability rippling off him.  _Alone, unstable, highly violent. Not a good prospect._

Chirrut set his hand on the bench between them and waited until Baze covered it with his own.

_Neimoidian_ , he signed.  _Far right booth_.

He felt Baze’s resigned agreement and squeezed briefly.

“You’re being unreasonable,” he said loudly.

Baze sighed. “I tell you, there’s a draft.”

“So sorry,” Chirrut said to the Flakax, standing. “ _So_  sorry, you know how husbands are—well, perhaps you don’t, but mine is just impossible sometimes—”

The Flakax’s confusion was morphing into anger quickly as Chirrut brushed one of its lower limbs.

“Kriff  _off_ ,” the Flakax snarled.

“Of course, of course,” Chirrut said. Baze was holding the plate of scrimpi for him when he turned, at Chirrut’s waist level where his hand would find it easily. “Well, come on then,” Chirrut snapped. “Let’s go find a table  _without_  a draft for your delicate arse, shall we?”

He kept up his litany of complaints as they threaded their way through the tables toward the right side of the room.

“Can never be satisfied, can you? No, you just have to complain about everything.” He pitched his voice higher, making it carry. “’I’m not  _comfortable_ , husband, I want to find a different place to  _sit_ , husband,’ it’s just whine whine whine all the time with you—”

Baze’s resignation was morphing into a blend of amusement and irritation, like warm prickles across Chirrut’s skin, and Chirrut spun to drive a finger at Baze’s chest.

“You’re _impossible_ ,” he said, but he was interrupted by an angry sputter as the Neimoidian rose from the booth beside them.

“Look where you’re going, you clumsy fool,” they growled.

Chirrut turned to face him, making a show of realizing his plate was empty and the Neimoidian was wearing its contents, plucking at their damp robes with tiny squelches Chirrut could hear under the clamor of the pub around them.

“Oh no,” he said, letting distress play over his features. He dropped the empty plate on the table with a clatter. “Here, let me help you with that—” He reached out and the Neimoidian batted him away.

“Leave it, it’s fine.”

“No no, you’ve got glockaw sauce all over you,” Chirrut said. “Here, just let me—” He whisked the Neimoidian’s robe off their shoulders and down their arms as Baze proffered clean linens. “There, see, much better, I’m _so_ sorry, I don’t know what happened, you must allow me to pay for your robe—”

“I said _leave_ it,” the Neimoidian snapped, and snatched the heavy robes back.

“Of course,” Chirrut said. He bowed, a quick, shallow dip, and jerked his head in Baze’s direction. “You’ve ruined everything, I hope you know. We might as well go.”

Baze said nothing as they turned for the door. Chirrut took his bo staff from the attendant and waited until they were outside before handing over the wallet he’d winkled from the Neimoidian’s robes.

“How’d we do?”

Baze grunted. “Well enough we won’t have to do that again for a week or so.”

Chirrut laughed, head back. “You just don’t like it when I use that tone of voice.”

Affection floated from Baze, abruptly replaced by alarm, and Chirrut spun.

“This one _knew_ it,” the Flakax said. “This one _thought_ you took—you did, this one is calling authorities—”

Chirrut took its legs out from under it with his staff and it fell with a furious clacking of mandibles and limbs. Before it could cry out, Chirrut had struck again, a sharp blow to the head.

Silence fell and Chirrut turned back to Baze, who hadn’t moved.

“It won’t stay down long. We should go. _Now_.”

He led the dash through the streets, knowing Baze was on his heels as he pounded through alleys and ducked across narrow paths.

In through an open door. Up the stairs. Down the hall, in the third door on the left and Baze was crowding him forward even as Chirrut pushed the door open and turned on a breathless laugh as Baze growled and kicked the door shut to pull him close.

He walked Chirrut backward to the bed, breath hot on Chirrut’s skin, hair falling forward for Chirrut to tangle his fingers in.

Chirrut had held a nekarr kitten in the marketplace once, as a child. Its ears were pointed and tufty and its fur had been soft under his questing hands, softer than the velvet of a Chironian’s horns, the vendor had told him. Chirrut had held the kitten to his ear and listened while it purred, small and raspy, and thought himself as happy as a person could be.

Baze toppled him onto the mattress and pinned him down, heavy and reassuring across Chirrut’s thighs. “The mighty Chirrut, brought low,” he whispered, and nipped his jaw.

Chirrut sighed and warmth spread like honey through him as Baze moved lower.

Baze’s fingers were nimble on Chirrut’s robes as he pulled them off in pieces until Chirrut was bare, the cool air in the room kissing his flushed skin.

Chirrut couldn’t help preening. He tucked his hands behind his head and arched his spine, letting his legs splay out as he offered himself up.

Baze’s intake of breath was audible.

“You will be the death of me,” he growled.

“We’re fine, aren’t we?” Chirrut pointed out.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” Baze said.

Chirrut smiled. “You love it.”

“I love _you_ ,” Baze corrected. “Although the gods only know why, what with you dragging me along on all your misguided adventures—”

Chirrut surged upright and caught him in a kiss. “You talk too much,” he said against Baze’s mouth.

That startled Baze into a laugh and Chirrut basked in it, drawing him back down to the bed with him.

“ _I_ talk too much,” Baze muttered.

Chirrut hummed serene agreement and let his hands wander. He explored Baze’s face with his fingertips, mapping the familiar terrain, the creases that fanned out around Baze’s eyes, the beard he’d grown after they’d finished acolyte training.

“ _Not a boy anymore_ ,” he’d said simply.

Baze turned his head and kissed the inside of Chirrut’s wrist.

“Tell me what it feels like,” he whispered, and moved down the bed.

He kissed Chirrut’s abdomen, mouth soft, and moved along the vee of his hip, licking and nibbling his way.

“Tell me,” he repeated after a minute.

Chirrut struggled to focus. “I—Baze….”

He could feel Baze’s smile against his skin.

“Tell me.”

“Like… frill syrup,” Chirrut sighed. “Sweet and—thin.”

“Thin?” Baze moved to Chirrut’s other hip to begin all over again.

“ _Ah_ —” Chirrut clutched at his own head to keep his hands to himself. “Like—”

“Silver-tongued Chirrut,” Baze mocked gently. “Where’s your eloquence now?”

“Baze, _please_ —”

It felt like home when Baze took him into his mouth, like spiced caf and the warmth of a fire crackling, heat flaring on his skin, and Chirrut gave himself up to it with a sigh.

Baze gripped Chirrut’s hip with one hand, fingers digging in to hold him still, lips and tongue working relentlessly, and Chirrut knew without the benefit of sight that he had his other hand between his own legs.

They came within seconds of each other, Chirrut with an open-throated cry and Baze on a stifled moan, limbs tremoring with the aftershocks as they collapsed to the bed and Chirrut drew Baze up his body.

“How long has it been?” Chirrut asked after a few minutes of blissful nothing, slipping his fingers into Baze’s hair and combing out the silken strands.

“Twenty-three years,” Baze murmured, facedown on Chirrut’s chest.

Chirrut smiled, Baze’s hair softer than the kitten’s fur under his palms.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from [Space Song](http://genius.com/Beach-house-space-song-lyrics) by Beach House.
> 
> Come find me on [Tumblr](http://greymichaela.tumblr.com)! I'm nice and I love sharing feelings about my favorite gay space husbands.


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